The Corruption
by Kanto the Slayer
Summary: The Tower of Fate has fallen. Peace has returned to the Kingdom of Pridemoor. Shovel Knight and Shield Knight are alive, and in somewhat good health. But their story is not yet finished. Because sometimes, destroying one thing awakens another, and this thing wants everything either under its grip, or drained of its essence. Steel thy shovel... AGAIN.
1. Prologue: Creature

Beyond the frozen wastelands of the North, in a place still blackened with the fell magics that twisted reality itself, there once stood a structure of arcane designs. It was said that this tower was a nexus of ley lines, a place where great power could be amassed. What happened to this power when one with enough will reached the top of the place was the subject of various rumors and stories.

Some say it granted wishes. Others, riches. Still others, the very power stored within the stones which seemed to spring up from nowhere.

Whatever it granted, the Tower of Fate unleashed an unspeakable evil in the form of an amulet. The trinket, seemingly innocuous, held a terrible entity who sought freedom above all else, to exercise her will over all that lived. All that she needed was a host... and she'd found one.

But with the strength and conviction of a knight, she was struck down, once and for all.

This Tower, once mighty, lay in ruins. The perpetual rains, brought forth by the energies released, sought to wash the rubble away.

Perhaps one day, they could have succeeded.

But that day was not today.

Lightning flashed through the skies, twisted by the rending whims of chaos into a pallor of pale green. As the fires in the sky lit, the stones stood askew, inert of the life that once coursed through them. Another lightning strike, and the thunder knocked one of the stones from the pile, as if fleeing from the shockwave.

A third strike. More stones moved, and it was not due to thunder.

As the storm raged on, unabated, a sound akin to a beating heart thrummed, heavy and deep. Stones fled from the pile, fearful of more than just the rain, and a sickly purple glow rose from the ruins. The air shimmered and distorted, a ripple in time and space forming from deep within the earth below.

The glow faded seconds after it had appeared.

Lightning struck again, and this time it revealed an explosion of dirt and debris, the muddied remains of the tower scattered by a massive fist, sinewy and gnarled.

This was a place of power still, and the release of the energies when the amulet was destroyed... fed something. Awakened it.

It hungered for more.

* * *

A pair of cold grey eyes peered out from the slotted visor of a helm, black in color with red trim. Thus was the rest of his armor, marking him as an outsider. Yet his armor was more than just protection and statement combined. It was a conduit for the powers of Darkness, of things unspoken of.

Laced with forbidden rituals, forged by his own hand, the armor's sigils and runes glowed a fierce crimson, as if filled with his own blood. In truth, it was residual energy given to him from the Enchantress before his latest battle against his rival, just before the Tower collapsed. He was tempted to look behind him, at the wings that carried him aloft, the primaries tinged a fiery red while the rest of his wings remained their coal black hue.

They sickened him. Reminded him he was tainted.

Yet he still wore them, found a use for them. Right now they served him by giving him a wide view of the Blackened Lands, and the remains of the Tower of Fate. He chose to be the guardian of this domain, yet never choosing to rule over it. This was no-man's land, and he only sought to keep wanderers out... and keep the monsters in.

He'd sensed a growing presence, a menace that hung over these lands since the Tower fell. The air was still for days afterward, even though monsters were still born from the magic seeped into the earth. But now it hummed again, churned like the skies above.

His eyes narrowed. So the creature finally reared its ugly head. The game of hide and seek was over, and now he would stop this birthing before its completion.

The Black Knight angled his wings downward as an explosion rocked the ruins. He sliced through the air, wind parting before him, the rain pelting and battering him. .He ignored it, dove headfirst into the maelstrom. The Thing, he'd chosen to call it, climbed from the rubble, its silhouette massive against the green sky.

He dispersed his wings, still five feet in the air, and streamlined himself to ram toward the ground like a lance from the Gods. Black Knight righted himself at the last second and landed with a metallic clang. Sparks flew as he slid forward, stopping a stone's throw away from the dark Thing that towered above him.

He stood and stared upward. "So we meet, foul beast."

The silhouette reared its head back and roared, even as lightning flashed. Its draconian, scale-coated skin gleamed for that brief instant, and yellowed eyes glowed with madness and malice... and a cold, calculating intelligence.

The Knight stared back as if inspecting a speck of dirt, a bug that needed to be ground under his greaves. He reached his right hand out, channeling his will toward the extended fingers, and with a deep purple glow a shovel appeared, the tip of the spade sharpened to a keen edge capable of splitting stone, tearing through armor, and rending souls.

He called it Bereaver, for it was meant for nothing but destruction.

And here before him, was something to destroy.

Black Knight whirled the weapon over his head before settling into a combative stance. He couldn't help the grin that split his lips. "Come then. Let us dance into the abyss."

He did not hesitate, and neither did the Thing. The beast swung its massive right fist at him, and he leapt upward at the same time. The impact with the ground made his teeth rattle, even in mid air, yet he passed cleanly over the assault. The Knight landed on the limb and, with speed granted to him by the sigils in his armor, launched his way up toward its head, the grin replaced by a grimace borne of resolve and determination.

Lighting flashed, revealing the Knight as he soared through the air, Bereaver pointed toward one of the Thing's eyes.

The image would be seared on the eyes of the Gods for all time.

* * *

He slept, and dreamed.

She fell again, like always. Beasts came at him from all sides, seeking his blood, his blade, his very life. He fought them off, slashing at all sides, blood and gore coating his armor and his weapon. He almost slipped on the entrails of an armored something-or-other that refused to lay down and die, yet he continued his struggle.

They didn't matter. None of them mattered, because she was _falling_.

He saw her, there, rushing downward, a Valkyrie cast from the Heavens for some sin he could not name. Her shield weighed her down, yet she did not cast it aside, unconscious as she was.

The monsters kept coming, rushing him in a frenzy. They reached him at last, chewing into his armor, denting the metal that kept him alive and breathing. He cared not, for there she was, feet from the ground. He willed his strength, summoned every fiber of it, and leapt with his right arm held upward.

Time slowed to a crawl as they neared the point of no return. His eyes widened, knowing full well he would not make it.

They made contact with a ring of armor. He circled his right arm around her, grabbed on.

She slid through. The gore and blood coating his armor caused it.

With a soundless scream, he watched as she fell into the waiting jaws and blades of the enemy, his vision turning white as he lost every sense of direction, time, even his own self.

* * *

The fire still blazed when he awoke.

His vision returned to him, hazy and blurred, as his senses came to life one after another. With senses came thought, and with thought came the last thing he'd seen before everything turned to flame and the acrid smell of decay. His eyes widened, hands clenched into fists as the world around him resolved itself. He sucked in a breath, air rushing into his lungs for what felt like the first time in weeks.

How long had he been out? What of the Tower?

He tried to move, found he could not. A brief mental scan of his body confirmed that he wasn't paralyzed, just in severe pain. Pain was sometimes a good thing, because it informed one's brain that they were still alive, and in somewhat good health. But the pain left questions, the first of which was why he was unable to move.

He scanned his immediate surroundings.

The camp fire burned with a merry crackle and pop, in a pit crafted with a practiced hand. He didn't remember doing such a thing, which suggested someone carried him out. He looked up, and the stars were still out, a counterpoint to the circle of light he'd slumbered in. He'd have to use one of them to guide his way back to Pridemoor.

He looked down, and at last found a clue as to why he was immobilized.

A gauntlet, red in color and fitted to a matching arm guard with gold trim, draped across his chest plate. It held on for dear life, as if afraid of letting him go, fearing he may be lost again. He processed the sight for a moment, then forced himself to put the rest of the puzzle together. From the bracer, the rest of the armor seemed to form as if from a haze.

Pauldrons battered, still functional though. Dented and cracked in places. Wings on the helmet somehow stayed a pristine silver, though the head piece had seen better days. Chest plate needed severe repairs. It was all he could see before he finally focused on her face.

Eyes closed in peaceful repose, tufts of blond hair poking out from the rim of the helm. The gentle curve of her jaw line where he used to run his fingers across time and time again when he didn't think she noticed. He was tempted to do it again, but continued his examination. Dirtied by the rigors of battle, grime and soot in places, but her skin still had the flush of health.

He scoffed. "Another dream," he muttered. "Another cursed dream."

"Mmmm... if this is a dream, please don't speak so loudly. I don't want it to end..."

He smirked. "I can talk as much as I want, thank you very much. After all, I'm not awake yet." The smirk turned to a laugh. "Methinks I shan't wake up at all if the dream is this pleasant." He looked up at the stars again. "It's happened then. I've died, and have time enough to see you in my mind before I pass on to the Gods." He hissed in pain. "Death... is both as I thought it would be, and yet as painful."

"The dead do not speak, nor dream, nor feel pain. Surely you know this."

He laughed again. "How am I to know if I'm dead or not? I see you here..." He looked over and his eyes widened as he stared into hers, blue as the sky on a cloudless summer day, the sparkle of mirth in them even through her dirty features. "You. You're here."

She nodded, her smile a gleaming white. "I'm here."

His breath caught in his throat. "Then... it's over?"

She nodded. "It's over." A wince as she shifted in the wrong way. "Gods above! I almost _wish_ I'd died!"

His features turned from shock to concern. Her armor hid her injuries, though he could smell no blood. Internal injury, ribs or some such. Maybe worse, he had no way to tell. They had to see the Troupple King, and quickly! "Can you move?"

She grimaced. "Now, in the middle of the night?" She scoffed. "Please, I know you aren't that dense. Do you have any Ichor?"

He shook his head. "I don't. Spent it all during the fight with that bloody amulet."

She huffed. "Can't be helped, then. We need to..." She yawned, blue eyes hidden for a moment. "We need to sleep some more. Just until morning, when we can actually place one foot in front of another in reliable fashion. I'll keep for now."

He grumbled of what a stubborn creature she still was before turning back toward the fire. Consternation turned to contentment as he stared into the flames. "When we get back..."

She snuggled into him as sleep took hold of them both. "Hush. No words."

Shovel Knight smiled. Of course not, they'd never needed any.

He slept, and dreamed no more.

* * *

**Prologue: **_**Creature**_

You. Yeah, you. You haven't played Shovel Knight yet? Then what the FUCK are you reading this for? Play it, then come back here.

This is my love letter to Yacht Club Games for their immense, hand-crafted labor of love. The plan is to create a sweeping epic of gargantuan proportions, the likes of which has never been seen before!

Well maybe it has, but not for this game. Take that how you will.

The story finishes when I say it does, at what chapter I choose. Reviews are appreciated, but will not drive this story forward. I will finish it, and if you want to read it, you can.

Inspirational Tracks: The Defender, Starlit Wilds, The Fateful Return

Oh, and Shovel Knight does not belong to me. Even if it did, I wouldn't change a goddamn thing about it!

_This is your Slayer._


	2. One: Triumphant

"Come on, just a bit further, now. We're almost at the place I spoke of."

"We bloody well better be. I don't want to hold my guts in forever, you know!"

The knight in pale blue glanced toward his compatriot, his helm hiding a smirk. She wasn't _that_ hurt, otherwise she wouldn't complain so much. She did have a point though, walking was not the best way to go. They needed transport, and quickly, if they wanted to get to Pridemoor by the end of the day, and without keeling over.

The mountain loomed before them, and anchored to it, an airship of massive proportions. The sun loomed high above their heads, having set out early that morning. As much as they wanted to take their armor off, even for a moment, the lands still teemed with beasts and shadowy creatures. The very notion was folly.

He still wanted to do it anyway.

But it wouldn't be long now, because he could see something headed toward them. Perhaps a scout vessel of some sort. If they didn't shoot at them within the next five minutes, that meant their captain was in a good mood. Then again, one never really _caught_ him in a bad mood; he was the most lighthearted of the Order of no Quarter.

"Oh, Hells..."

Shield Knight didn't seem so certain as she made a feeble attempt at raising her buckler. "Don't tell me you've led us right into the jaws of an enemy fleet for _help_!"

"Relax," Shovel Knight replied with a smile. "This one in particular is no true enemy. In fact, I'd wager they never were."

In fact, by his count, two minutes passed while they spoke. If they hadn't fired on them by then, they wouldn't. The ship closed, and the smile turned to a full grin as a rope ladder fell from the heavens. "Ahoy there! Might I have a word with your captain?"

"Oui! He 'as been expecting you as well! Climb aboard!"

"That might be a problem," he replied. "I have wounded down here, and she won't make it all the way up there on her own. Might need some assistance!"

The knight got no response for a full minute. What he got instead were two men with those odd propeller suits, coming to meet them. They landed, rushed over, and took Shield Knight, one arm across the shoulders of each man. "Pardonnez-moi, mademoiselle," one of them muttered, trying not to upset her injured side. The second glanced toward him. "Are you ready now?"

The blue knight gave a nod before setting foot onto the ladder. He gave his partner one last look before the propeller suits whirred to life. "I'll see you on board."

She gave him a weak smile as they carried her up.

* * *

"Ah, mon ami! It has been too long."

Atop the main deck of the airship, just before a vast window overlooking the ocean, the knight stood without his weapon for once, having left it in his cabin. The man before him stood resplendent in a green flight suit, trimmed with gold. Yet things had changed; this time he had no helmet, nor did he have his dueling rapier. Dark brown hair and hazel eyes lay underneath the helm it seemed, along with the brightest smile anyone had ever seen on a clean-shaven jaw.

He stood with his arms wide in a gesture of welcome. "Welcome back to my home in the sky, monsieur..." He tilted his head to the right. "Ah, I do not believe we have exchanged names. This cannot stand!" The captain bowed. "Henri Durand, at your service."

"Well, Henri," the knight chuckled, "It's nice to know you have a name other than Propeller Knight." With the garb the captain had on, he felt a tad overdressed... and so he reached for his own helmet, lifting it from his head to reveal auburn hair and green eyes, a stark contrast to his cerulean armor. "As for me, my name is Sir Godwyn Halvor." He gave him a bow in return, though just enough to keep his eyes on the man. "Well met, Sir Durand."

The captain chuckled. "Please, mon ami, none of that. Henri will do. We are no longer at each other's sword ends, yes? That makes us friends!" He turned toward the window. "And friends share with each other. Share drinks, share scars..." He paused for a moment. "...share stories."

Godwyn folded his arms in front of him, his features a facade of indifference. "What story would you wish me to share with you?"

Henri chuckled. "The mademoiselle, of course! Lovely as she is, I did not expect to have an injured woman on my ship. One that looks very much like the Shield Knight of tales past. It would appear you have recovered her from the Tower of Fate." He glanced over his right shoulder. "May I inquire as to how?"

"You mean you don't know?"

Henri turned to face him, one of his brows arched high. "Know what, good chevalier?"

Godwyn opened his mouth to speak... then thought better of it. Of _course_ they wouldn't know. None of the Order could have figured it out, and only one outside their ranks would have noticed. _Had_ noticed, in fact. "It's nothing," he sighed. "Suffice it to say that when she fell, I caught her."

"I see..." Silence again, then Henri took in a breath. "Given the chance to do it again, would you?"

Godwyn's features turned from impassive to resolute. "As many times as needed. The Nine Hells could stand against me and I would claw at them with my bare hands to save her."

Henri grinned. "Well then, we are of similar minds!" He laughed. "Though I do wish I had a petite thing to call my own, I would fall on a thousand swords to save a mademoiselle in distress!" The grin turned to a smirk. "Though it appears yours is less prone to _be_ in distress, no? Speaking of which, where is her shield?"

"Destroyed." Godwyn shrugged. "Or lost during the fall of the Tower. I know not which, and she will not say." Then again, he didn't remember much about anything, past the attack that knocked him unconscious. He made a note to ask her about it later. For the moment, they had a keep to report to. "Can you take us back to Pridemoor?"

Henri rubbed his chin. "I do not believe I am too welcome in your kingdom. Even with the white flags."

Godwyn frowned. "I could make it a point to have you granted amnesty. There may yet be a place for you."

"While I appreciate that, I will have to decline." The captain smiled again, eyes twinkling with mirth. "After all, I would rather live my life carefree in the air with those who would join me of their own free will! And as you no doubt have seen, I have plenty of those who would board my ship now."

Godwyn gave a resigned nod. "Well then, simply get us to the Troupple King, and we will be on our way shortly. Not to say ill of your doctor, but we need Ichor if she is to make a full recovery."

Henri nodded and picked up a speaker connected to the rest of the ship's airways. "All passengers and crew, secure for weighing of the anchor!"

* * *

Samuel Pridemoor sat on the throne of his keep, one hand holding his chin up as his ears were graced with the music from the village bard, whom he'd called in for the days of feasting. Since the Tower had fallen, he'd gotten his throne back and put to task the knight that the Enchantress placed into power.

He was grateful the people welcomed him back, and as such, declared the next three days a celebration. His court was open daily as villagers and nobles alike filled the halls, and tonight, the second evening of the party, was to be the ball. He smiled at the thought of seeing all the dancers in their finery, but the silence that filled the court removed him from his daydreaming. He blinked and glanced over at the bard. "Is it over already?"

The bard, clad in brown and yellow, gave a bow. "Oh, on the contrary! I have _much_ to play for you... but someone else seems to want your attention."

King Pridemoor glanced toward the double doors, and found one of his messengers kneeling at the entrance, breathing as if he'd run from halfway across the plains. "Rise, and come forward. You seem to have much to tell me, so I'll offer you a moment to catch your breath."

The messenger gave him a grateful look as he stood and jogged his way toward the throne. Still short of breath, he leaned forward and whispered into Samuel's ear. The king's eyes widened as the message became clear, and nodded in places to display his understanding.

His _belief_ at the words was still in doubt, but he _heard_ them all the same.

"I must have this confirmed." He turned toward the messenger. "Send scouts to the marshlands with all speed, with my fastest horses. Tell them to be back before sundown, for good or ill."

The messenger bowed, then raced his way out of the throne room. Samuel turned toward the bard with a smile. "If what I heard was right... we may need to prepare two more places at my table tonight."

* * *

**One: _Triumphant_**

And here we go! The first official chapter of my Shovel Knight saga! And I already got one fave, so we're off to a damn good start. I tell you, if this really takes off, we could see the first bighuge story for this game!

Let's make it happen, people. GO GO GO!

_Justice in spades._


	3. Two: Restoration

A woman with crimson red armor laced with gold trim sat on the edge of a wooden dock, her feet dangling from the edge as she swayed to the rhythm of a waltz that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. A placid smile graced her features as she watched the troupples leap in synchronization, as if conducted by their king.

The winged helmet, usually on her head, lay at her side with her left hand resting atop it. Her flaxen hair, released from its prison, terminated just below her shoulder blades, her bangs swept to the right to keep her vision clear. Her face, once dirty and ashen, nearly glowed with renewed vigor.

Godwyn smiled as he watched her, a wistful cast to his eyes. His fingers itched to run through her hair, though he'd never had the courage to do so before their first trip to the Tower. They were friends, comrades, and had a good synergy without things being complicated. He hadn't wanted anything more back then.

Seeing her now, reborn from the Ichor of Renewal, he came to the conclusion that he'd made a mistake. One that he planned on rectifying as soon as the chance presented itself.

He turned to look forward again as soon as he caught her turning toward him. "It's been a while, hasn't it? Since we watched the troupples dance." She giggled, and he found it amusing that she'd do something like that. "You know, it never ceases to amaze me, how coordinated they are."

Godwyn nodded, only half-paying attention to the spectacle. They'd have to go back sometime, and then he would say what he needed to.

"You've got that look again. The one you get where you're spacing out."

He blinked and turned to face her, falling into the trap of her eyes.

He'd never noticed just how blue they were, or how they seemed to sparkle when mischief was at hand, or how beautiful they looked when narrowed to slits in determination. Every memory he'd had of her changed in the space of a single instant, and for several moments, Godwyn found himself unable to reply.

A poke to the nose pulled him back from his clouded state. "See? There it goes again. You haven't heard a word I've said, have you?"

Godwin huffed and shook his head. "I'm afraid not. Too busy thinking about... things."

She leaned closer to him. "Is that so. And what... things... are more important than what I've been talking about? Don't tell me you're looking back on what happened at the Tower." She placed a hand on his right shoulder, the one that used to rest atop her helmet. "The amulet is broken and the Tower is in ruins. We can relax for a while until the next problem crops up, so I would take this time to relax if I were you." She grinned. "That is, if you're capable of such a thing."

"Believe me Alana, I would like to do nothing more than that. Just as soon as we get back, I'll do nothing but sleep." He raised his left hand. "On my honor as a knight."

She chuckled. "You do take much stock in that, don't you? Very well. I'll hold you to that."

Alana turned back to the pond, now still from the lack of dancing. "Oh, we missed it. Thanks a lot, Godwyn!"

He peered toward the Troupple King and took stock of where the oversized fish's eyes were directed. "I think he stopped for a reason. We have guests." Godwyn turned to face the men on horseback, his face a mask of neutrality. "Can we aid you, good sirs?"

The men said nothing, yet one of them dismounted and approached the knights. He knelt nearby and pulled what appeared to be a roll of parchment from the folds of his coat. Godwyn took it and examined the purple ribbon tied around it.

Most important was the wax seal, inlaid with gold. The Crest of Pridemoor.

He glanced toward Alana. "It appears we're being summoned home."

She sighed and glanced at the Troupple King, who merely gave her a smile. "A pity. I wanted to watch him dance again."

* * *

Samuel glanced up from the list of preparations for the evening at the sound of his doors opening. What he saw made his eyes widen in shock.

He was incapable of speech as they approached, specifically her. They all thought her dead, lost to them when the Tower of Fate claimed her. The entire kingdom lamented her loss, but after the first few weeks the pain dulled, then faded altogether. For the rest of that year, life went on without her.

And now, she was here in in his audience chamber. She had no shield save for her buckler, but she was otherwise whole and unharmed. Before long she kneeled before his throne, next to Sir Godwyn Halvor, the Shovel Knight.

It was then that he found his voice again. "Stand, please! Both of you. There's no need to honor me when clearly _you_ are the ones deserving of it." He stood from his throne as they got to their feet and approached the armored woman. "As I live and breathe. Dame Alana Eustella." King Pridemoor gave his best bow. "I almost can't believe my eyes, but here you are, back among us!"

Alana smiled. "Well we both know, sire, that there isn't much that can keep me down for long."

He waved her off. "Please, none of that 'sire' business. Let's not stand on ceremony. You two are not some rank-and-file soldiers of mine." He walked back toward his throne and sat. "I called you here for two reasons. Well, _three_... but the third one has been sated. So let's speak of the first two."

Before the King said anything else, Godwyn cleared his throat. "I am going to assume, and pardon me for doing so, that you will ask for a report on exactly what happened at the Tower of Fate." He gave a nod toward Alana. "She knows better than I do. In fact, she could probably tell you more about the last year than even I can. I am ashamed to admit that before the final blow was struck, I was knocked unconscious by a desperate attack."

Alana stepped forward. "Which I shielded him from. Lost my weapon because of it, but it was either it or him. The last I saw, the Black Knight carried him away. I barely managed to escape myself."

Samuel rubbed his chin. "Interesting... and just what was the nature of the amulet?"

Alana grimaced. "A prison. One for a vile entity that I can only assume was some kind of fallen Goddess, summoned here by some fool that knew not what they were doing. She sought a vessel to return to the mortal plane." She turned her face away from him. "When I refused to listen to her whispers of power and dominion, she began to subvert me in other ways. The tower was sealed by her power, the lands were put under guard, and for the better part of a year I was transformed into that... thing."

Samuel's eyes widened. "I... I cannot imagine what it was like." He glanced toward Godwyn. "And you knew this, even when you fought her physical form?"

"The thought had crossed my mind once or twice, but fighting the Black Knight just before the Tower's entrance confirmed my suspicions. In fact, he was the one that'd put the idea in my head in the first place. The only reason he'd follow such a tyrannical figure was if he knew there was something else going on with them." Godwyn glanced toward Alana. "If I'd known sooner..."

She shook her head. "There was no way you could have known. You were right to flee."

Samuel stood from his throne. "Were that you two not standing before me, I would not believe what I'd just heard. Coming straight from the source, it still sounds bizarre, but I have no reason to doubt either of you." He cleared his throat. "For the fall of the Tower of Fate and the restoration of the Kingdom, I hereby offer the two of you a boon, which I will grant with all the resources I have at my disposal. Ask of me anything, and it is yours."

Alana smiled. "I was going to ask for a new Hoplon, but now that seems petty. I know I could have one made for me anyway, and I have the gold to pay for it."

"Nonsense! I will have one commissioned for you, and I won't even count that as the boon."

She blinked. "You are... most generous, Your Majesty. I'll have to think about what I really want, then."

Godwyn shrugged. "You know me, m'lord. I only wish to be of service."

Samuel frowned. "That's just it, Shovel Knight. You want nothing else but that, and it is beginning to irritate me." He lifted a hand before Godwyn could speak further. "I grant you lands, titles, riches, whatever you want or need. And still you desire nothing but your duty. Is there _nothing_ else that might interest you?"

The knight opened his mouth to speak, but could not find words. He gave Alana a glance before looking back at the king. "I... will have to give this some thought."

"You'd better," King Pridemoor scoffed. "No man is entirely made of duty and honor. My advice would be to search yourself and find what you truly want. Because if you don't, I will rescind that boon, and I won't give another one, no matter _how_ many times you save my people." He sniffed. "That should be an adequate lesson, I think."

Godwyn chuckled. "I swear on my knighthood, I will take your offer into serious thought."

Samuel nodded. "Then on to my second request. At tonight's feast, you two are to sit at my table as honored guests instead of knights. Bring your finery and brush up on your dances, because I expect you amongst the revelers at some point, not just at your places, speaking of grave matters."

Alana glanced toward Godwyn. "Did he just _order_ us to have _fun_?"

"He did." Godwin bowed. "And it is an order I will follow gladly. We will be there, Your Majesty."

* * *

**Two: **_**Restoration**_

This was all I could do before passing out for bed this evening. I'll have it posted tonight before I lay my head down, but after that, you guys are on your own until I get back from work tomorrow afternoon. I promise to keep these under five thousand words, so you guys will have little bite-sized chunks of story in your emailz instead of bighuge chapters that you can barely chew on.

Unless you guys like those things, in which case... well, I still won't, because these short chapters will make this story manageable.

Meh.

Inspirational Tracks: No Weapons Here, The Requiem of Shield Knight, Waltz of the Troupple King

_For Shovelry_!


	4. Three: Revelry

Godwyn stared out at the dancing masses, his eyes observing patterns and rhythm, timing and subtle cues. An empty plate with the remains of the evening's dinner sat before him, ignored for his moment of crowd-watching. He almost didn't hear the conversation of the nobles around him as they spoke of petty things, until one of them cleared their throat to get his attention. Godwyn glanced to his right. "Ah, do forgive me... what was it you were saying?"

The man, well built and middling in stature, smiled. His green and gold marked him as a resident of the stretch of land that Specter Knight laid claim to, with no shortage of devastation. "Nothing, just yet. I was simply wondering if you were enjoying the evening." He chuckled. "You certainly seem as if you're longing to get out there."

"Perhaps I am. I haven't danced in quite some time." Godwyn turned his gaze toward the party again as the song they danced to finished, with a round of applause. "I understand the village bard composed most of what we're hearing this evening. It's quite good."

"Aye... and the sights are to be taken in as well." He leaned toward Godwyn. "You know... I never did get the appeal toward deerfolk and the equines, but seeing them dance like that... I begin to understand." He chuckled. "But enough of that. Tell me of your travels. I hear you've been fighting against a certain unscrupulous knight, who wields the same weapon as you."

Godwyn turned his gaze toward the table. "You speak of the Black Knight." He frowned. "We have had... altercations in the past. But he is not unscrupulous, as you say. The man has his own honor, he simply does not follow any sort of rules or structure but his own." Godwyn sighed, the fingers of his right hand drumming on the table. "We haven't quite finished our business yet."

The noble huffed. "You give him too much credit. I hear he was the final bulwark between you and the Enchantress. If he was in your way, you were right to take care of the matter. The fact that he still lurks out there disturbs me greatly."

"Well all you need to do is stay out of his way and you'll be fine."

The two men turned toward Alana, and for a moment, Godwyn stopped breathing. She sat in pale greens and shining golds, her dress a far cry from her armor. He'd forgotten she could look like that, and the way the fabric clung to her figure made his toes curl.

The look in her eyes, of cool indifference, silenced any other indecent thoughts he had of her, at least for now.

Alana gave a slight nod. "I am not one to presume anything, sir. I only suggest that you not bother him. He wishes to be left alone, and means no harm to anyone. That said, he does what he will, and listens not to any authority but himself. Try to impose yourself upon him, and he will retaliate."

The noble folded his arms. "I know who you are, Dame Alana. And while I respect your accomplishments, I fail to see why you defend him so. His powers are unearthly and he has defeated many a noble champion who has come against him."

She smiled, and it was cold. "Let me guess... they all assumed he was a demon from some outer plane, or possessed, or some brigand with a shovel blade, yes?" The nobleman fell silent, and Alana shook her head. "Such as I thought. Fret not, I will not speak any further out of turn. Suffice it to say that I defend him because he defended me."

The noble's eyes widened. "You mean to say that he saved you once?"

She nodded. "And what's more, he kept a promise to me at the Tower of Fate."

Godwyn leaned forward as he looked at her, the conversation between the noble and herself going right over his head. He always did appreciate her when she was like this. What promise they made there, he decided, was a question for later, when they had time to themselves.

The noble cleared his throat again. "Then you'll have to forgive me. Had I known, I'd have treated him with a bit more respect. I'll tell my soldiers to grant him a wide berth when next they see him."

Alana nodded. "My thanks." She stood and brushed the skirt of her dress, as if removing some unseen wrinkle. "Godwyn, shall we?"

"Of course." He stood as well and offered her his hand, which she took as they made their way to the dancers.

* * *

Atop the highest balcony of the eastern tower, Godwyn looked out upon the rest of Pridemoor Keep, the noble gryphons now guarding their rightful master again. He gave the stars above a glance, his mind tracing back to the dreams he'd had of Alana falling to her death, only for him to wake up just before he caught her... or after he'd failed.

But that was over now. He'd caught her in the end, and they were both fine.

Godwyn sighed. This unease would be the death of him before long, from old age if nothing else. He turned toward his bed and considered finishing off the night with sleep. Heavens knew he'd earned at least some measure of it, especially after all the dancing he'd done.

Turned out he was better at it than he thought.

Godwyn smiled. Alana had been as graceful outside of her armor as she was with it on, and when the orchestra took a livelier song to the crowd, she responded with levity. He couldn't keep up with her once she'd started, so he decided to bow out and watch her.

The order, the _command_ to have fun, had paid off apparently.

A yawn saw him reach for the lamp light, yet before he cut it off, a knock on his door stopped his hand two inches away.

Godwyn stifled his groan. One more obstacle to his rest wouldn't hurt... "Enter, it's unlocked." For now, anyway.

He regretted his cynical thoughts when she entered, still in that dress of hers. "You left early."

"I did." Godwyn patted the space next to him on the bed. "Parties aren't my thing, though I did enjoy what all I partook of." He glanced toward the balcony. "I trust you had fun?"

Alana nodded. "Didn't even notice you were gone after a while." She sat and glanced out the window with him. "I remember you wanting to say something to me earlier. I think we have plenty of time now, so let's have it."

Godwyn said nothing for a good two minutes, then took in a breath. "Have you considered what your boon will be?"

"What, our talk's gonna be about _this_?" She gave him a half-hearted glare. "Of _course_ I don't know what I want! I mean, I get a new shield for practically free, and that won't count, so I'm at a loss." She huffed. "It's a real pain, it is. Have _you_ decided?"

Another pause, then, "I am... starting to." He glanced toward her again. "I'm thinking about getting us a permanent place to live." He rolled on before she could comment. "Just as a base of operations. We'll be needing it if we're going to roam the lands again."

Alana grinned. "Well now, that's something not even _I've_ thought about. I was just used to us setting up camp and moving on, but that sounds _much_ better." She tilted her head to the right. "Do you know where it'll be?"

Godwyn shook his head. "Still working out the particulars of that, but it'll come in time. I won't make my request until I have everything figured out, but at least I have a direction."

Alana sighed and leaned closer to him. "Well I'm glad you've thought of something." She placed an arm around his shoulders. "I think I'd like a place to put my feet up after we're done with an adventure. Keep me informed."

"I will." He paused to look out the window again. "Sometimes I wonder where the Black Knight went off to. He knew more than any of us, except for you of course. I feel the need to thank him for his efforts."

"Well you should," Alana replied with a smile. "I made him promise to keep you alive when the Tower fell."

Ah, there it was. The question he wanted to ask, neatly answered for him. It made sense now that he looked back on it. Finding her alive next to him, without a clue on how he got out. How could she have carried him with an injured arm?

Godwyn directed his gaze toward Alana. "Noble, as always." He was on the verge of saying something else, but then he yawned. "I must needs retire, it appears."

Alana pouted, and it made a part of him warm to see it. "The party's not even over yet." She sighed. "No help for it, then. I'll have to rest here with you." Her tone brooked no arguments.

She would get none from him anyway.

* * *

**Three: **_**Revelry**_

This one took longer than it should have.

You know what? Whatever. I'm glad I'm done with it, because I can move on to other things. Had to end it on a sweet note again, because I'm deliberately trying to tug at heart strings with these two. They're just made for each other (or at least I think so).

Bah, I'm a total sap.

_Strike the earth._


End file.
